IN LOVE WITH MY SECRETARY

Chapter 3 -THE INTERVIEW

Lilian’s POV

The building was taller than she expected.

Hale Enterprises rose from the heart of the city like a blade of glass, its mirrored windows catching the morning sun so brightly that she had to squint just to look up. The logo — a simple silver H — gleamed above revolving doors that spun endlessly with people in expensive shoes and confident strides.

Lilian stood on the sidewalk, clutching her small handbag like a lifeline. She’d ironed her only decent blouse that morning, a crisp white one she’d bought years ago for job fairs. The skirt was plain black, the heels borrowed from Bella. From a distance, she looked like she belonged. Up close, the tiny scuff on her heel and the faint tear at her sleeve told a different story.

She inhaled deeply. “You can do this,” she whispered under her breath.

Inside, the lobby looked like something out of a magazine. Marble floors, chrome elevators, a fountain that murmured softly near the reception desk. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and wealth.

“Good morning,” said the woman behind the counter, her smile professional and just a little too polite. “How can I help you?”

Lilian swallowed, keeping her voice steady. “I’m here for the secretary interview. Ten a.m.”

The receptionist scanned her list and nodded. “Lilian Carter, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Take the elevator to the thirty-second floor. They’re expecting you.”

Her heart picked up speed. They’re expecting you. That sounded so final, so official. Like there was no turning back now.

The elevator ride felt longer than it should have. She stared at her reflection in the mirrored walls — the faint dark circles under her eyes, the way her hair fell too loosely around her shoulders. She’d tied it up twice that morning before giving up.

When the doors slid open, the thirty-second floor looked even more intimidating. The reception area was minimalist, sleek, with neutral colors and abstract art that screamed money. A few men in suits and women in pencil skirts sat waiting, each one looking like they already belonged there.

Lilian quietly took a seat in the corner, clutching her folder. Her resume suddenly felt thin — one page that tried to make her years in marketing sound impressive without hinting at the mess that came after.

A blonde woman in a gray suit stepped out of a glass office, clipboard in hand. Her heels clicked sharply as she spoke. “Next, please — Ms. Lilian Carter?”

Lilian stood quickly, trying not to stumble. “That’s me.”

“Right this way.”

The woman led her through a hallway lined with glass offices. Behind one of the doors, a tall man in a suit was talking sternly on the phone. Even through the glass, his presence was magnetic — dark hair, sharp jawline, that air of authority that made everyone walk straighter.

She didn’t know it yet, but that was Aron Hale himself.

Lilian’s eyes caught his for a fleeting second — only a second — before she turned away. He didn’t look up again.

Inside the interview room, three people sat behind a wide desk — the blonde woman, a middle-aged man with glasses, and a younger guy tapping on a tablet.

“Please, have a seat,” said the man with glasses, offering a thin smile. “I’m Mr. Reynolds, head of HR. This is Ms. Voss and Daniel from the communications team.”

Lilian nodded politely, placing her folder on the desk. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Reynolds adjusted his glasses. “Your resume is quite interesting, Ms. Carter. You have a degree in marketing and three years of experience at—” he glanced down, “—Brookline Advertising?”

“Yes,” she said. “I handled client outreach, campaign coordination, and administrative support for the executive team.”

Ms. Voss raised an eyebrow. “Then why apply for a secretarial position? This role is… considerably below your qualifications.”

Lilian forced a calm smile. “I’m looking for stability,” she said softly. “Something steady. I’m new in town, and I wanted a chance to work in a professional environment again.”

That wasn’t a lie — not entirely.

Daniel, the younger interviewer, glanced up. “You’re aware that the position is quite demanding? The CEO expects precision, discretion, and availability outside typical hours.”

“I understand.”

“Do you handle pressure well?”

Lilian thought of nights behind the bar, drunks yelling, bills piling, her chest tightening from the fear of being recognized. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Reynolds exchanged a brief look with Ms. Voss. “Can you tell us about a time you handled a crisis in the workplace?”

Lilian hesitated. Her mind flicked through memories she couldn’t share — lawyers, news cameras, betrayal. She cleared her throat. “Once, a major client’s data file was accidentally deleted right before a campaign launch. I stayed overnight with the IT team to rebuild it from backups. We delivered on time.”

Daniel nodded, impressed. “That’s initiative.”

Reynolds leaned back, tapping his pen. “You’re calm under pressure. That’s rare. Mr. Hale values that.”

Her pulse jumped. “Mr. Hale?”

“Our CEO,” Ms. Voss said smoothly. “He can be… intense. Not everyone lasts long in his office.”

Lilian smiled faintly. “I’ve worked with intense people before.”

Reynolds chuckled. “We’ll see.”

The questions went on — scheduling, communication, discretion, loyalty. Each answer felt like a thread tightening around her. She had to sound capable but not desperate, confident but not arrogant. Every word had to sell the version of herself she’d built — Lilian the competent assistant, not Lilian the woman who ran.

When it was over, Ms. Voss stood. “Thank you, Ms. Carter. We’ll be in touch soon.”

Lilian rose, shaking their hands. “Thank you for your time.”

As she turned to leave, the door opened suddenly. She stepped back quickly — almost colliding with someone entering.

It was him.

The man from the hallway. The one on the phone.

He was taller up close — broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the faintest shadow of stubble against his jaw. His eyes were a deep, unreadable gray, the kind that could make anyone forget what they were about to say.

“Mr. Hale,” Reynolds said quickly, straightening. “We just finished with the final candidate.”

Hale’s gaze flicked to Lilian, briefly. His expression didn’t change. “Carry on,” he said simply, and walked past.

But for a moment — just one heartbeat — his eyes lingered on her. Curious. Appraising.

Lilian’s throat went dry.

She managed a polite nod and stepped out of the room, her pulse hammering in her ears.

In the elevator, she exhaled for the first time in an hour. Her reflection in the mirrored wall looked the same, but something in her eyes had shifted.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was nerves. Or maybe it was the quiet, inexplicable feeling that something had just begun — something she wasn’t ready for, but couldn’t stop.